26
by IcyUmbreon
Summary: Series of drabbles based on alphabet word-prompts. Will be a variety of pairings, some slash, as well as generic. Rating not go above T. Characters are those in the most recent chapter. Will take requests.
1. A is for Arrogance

_A/N: Yay, more drabbles. Hopefully, I can actually write decently now. Here's our first one, 2-centric, but focusing on 7 and 1._ _Hopefully, I didn't get characterization horribly off. Can be interpreted as Foe Yay if you'd like, father-daughter, or just two enemies forced to live in close proximity._

**A is for Arrogance**

It's so funny to watch them go after each other in the way that they do. Now, for example, Seven is getting her head bitten off for being found sneaking back into the cathedral after another excursion outside. It's so silly, really. Five and I have told her time and time again about the secret passageways we've found, and how she should use them to enter and exit instead. I'm not entirely sure if she's just being stubborn, or always forgets to use them. In any case, One has found her again, and this time, she's not going to get away as easily.

"Do you have _any_ idea how much danger you are putting us in? You aren't exactly easy to miss, and if the beast found you heading back here-"

"If I got found by the beast, wouldn't it go after me before it came here? Face it, you aren't being _rational_ here!" I put a hand to my mouth. As always, Eight is standing by One, glaring down at Seven, and Five, Six, and the Twins shrink away from the shouting. I, on the other hand, have to fight laughter at Seven's tone, all righteous anger, so defensive.

One bristles, the brings his face closer to hers. She draws back from him as he hisses, "Are you really _egotistical_ enough to consider that your own importance exceeds that of everyone else here combined? Do you realize that sometimes, we must put the group as a whole before ourselves?"

I snort at this. Hypocrite. Seven seems to agree with me, because she asks, "And what about _you_? Do you ever think that if you got off that throne of yours, you might be able to do some good for the rest of us, rather than hiding in wait and punishing us when we don't share your cowardice?"

He brings up a hand to strike at her, but she grabs at his arm and twists it downwards. Her eyes inches from his, she says in a low voice that positively drips with hatred, "Don't _ever_ try that on me again." She let's go of him and storms away.

As he stares after her, the look on his face sits somewhere between fury and confusion.

* * *

"I cannot _stand_ him," she snarls, pacing around the room that she shares with the twins. I had come in her to borrow a book for blueprints, but it seems she had other ideas. "He's so self-absorbed, so bossy, so arrogant..."

I can't help but smirk slightly as I watch her. "Has it ever struck you how similar the two of you are?" She stops pacing and stares at me, incredulous.

"_What_ are you _talking_ about?" she asks, sounding revolted.

I shrug. "Well, think about it. You're both dominant and proud, and don't want to let yourselves by controlled by anyone else. You'd rather go out into the emptiness and run free, while he'd rather sit around here and keep everyone together, but you both do it for the same reason."

She tilts her head slightly to the side, giving me an odd look. "And that reason is?"

"You both want us to stay safe. You prefer to go on the offensive and take out the source of the problem. He prefers to play it out defensively, and keep _it_ from taking _us _out. This, combined with those proud, domineering traits that I already mentioned, make it logical that you'd hate each other so much," I say, matter-of-factly.

She continues to look at me for a moment, then shakes her head and continues pacing. "I'm not sure if having a _spine_ makes us parallels to each other."

Now I have to laugh. "There you go again, always so defensive about yourself. See, it's when you act like this that I see him in you."

"Oh, _God_," she sighs, exasperated, sitting down next to me on the empty matchbox that doubles as a bench. "You _cannot_ be serious, Two. Please, tell me that you aren't."

I stand up, and walk towards the bookshelf on the other side of the room to search for my blueprints. "Believe me, I am. Besides, they say that opposites attract. So, be grateful that you aren't more different."

I glanced over my shoulder to see her throw me a disgusted look.


	2. B is for Baffling

_A/N: And here's chapter two! I can't stand waiting around for fics to get updated, so I'm going to try to update this every day. So, here you have my shameless attempt to kiss up to the 5/6 fans. I'm not even that big on the pairing, myself- it's cute, but not my OTP. I really hope my shipping bias doesn't show through here... _

**B is for Baffling**

There were times when Five honestly had no idea what was going through Six's head.

Well, okay, that was most of the time.

However, at times like this, the artist's thoughts were especially cryptic. There were times when Five wondered if it had really been such a good idea to fix the lock on the door to his chamber, as the other had taken to disappearing into it for days, barring everyone else from coming in. It was strange, and sad, to see how he acted at times like this. He seemed to grow even more skittish than usual- he would always shrink away from One and Eight, of course, but when this happened, he went to great lengths to distance himself from friendly faces such as Two, Seven, and even the Twins, with whom he was the closest. He avoided Five, too- and for some reason that the stitchpunk could not quite place, it _hurt_. He liked to think of himself as sociable, or at the very least non-threatening. Seeing the most nervous, neurotic member of their group be so shy of him always made him feel guilty.

This guilt was the reason he was currently pacing backwards and forwards outside the door to the other's room. He felt silly doing it, knew that Six was fine (probably) and would come out when he was ready to. Seven had already scolded him for being so anxious. He had tried to explain to her that it was the circumstances under which he had last seen Six that made him so upset.

Five, as a rule, hated fighting. Six did, too. Whenever Seven and One squared off in the throne room, they were the ones who hid behind the bookshelves. It was even worse when _they_ were the ones being shouted at, and every angry word made them flinch. Yet, despite the meek nature that they shared, they had somehow ended up having a slight spat. It hadn't been a good day for Five in the first place; he had been out scouting with Two earlier, and dropped their map. _Nothing_ that the other said could convince him that he wasn't a stupid waste of space who had no business going out into the emptiness, and would be devoured by a beast in ten minutes if her were alone.

He had wanted to go up to the tower to brood for a while, and bumped into Six, who had just finished a new drawing, and was eager to show it off. Five's immediate response was that he didn't care about the drawing anyways, and if Six was so busy making scribbles on sheets of parchment, could he please make a new map for them, or kindly get out? Five reflected that it really hadn't been fair- the poor stitchpunk had bad social skills as it was, and certainly wouldn't have been expecting such a violent outburst from the kindest and friendliest of them. In any case, the artist had run away to his room and locked the door.

That was how Five came to be here, pacing and wondering if Six was alright. Two and Seven had seen him here, and neither had been particularly sympathetic towards him. He couldn't say that he blamed them. He glanced out at a nearby window; the sky was dark. He wondered how long he had been there. He sat down on the floor, and pressed the side of his head to the door, listening. He could hear faint scratches coming from inside. He sighed, slumping against the wall near the entrance. He shouldn't be worrying so was evidently well-off enough to draw. Nevertheless, he felt that hew owed it to the other to make an apology, whenever he got the chance. He would wait.

* * *

Five awoke to a gentle nudging on his arm. His eye flickered to life to see Six, staring at him, mouth twisted nervously, eyebrows pinched. He cocked his head to one side, expression partly scared and partly hopeful. He stood up and back away from Five. "Awake?"

Five smiled, pushing himself off the ground to meet his gaze. "Yeah, I'm awake. Listen, Six," he said, taking a step forwards, "I'm really sorry I snapped at you earlier. That was so... unlike me. I just wanted to tell you that I do care about your drawings- and I like them, too. I really hope you can forgive me for that." His gaze flicked down to the floor every so often as he spoke. He still felt ashamed about it. Six, however, looked relieved.

"You like them?" His voice was hopeful, and his eyes stared into Five's own.

Five grinned weakly. "Yeah. I really do."

Six whipped a piece of paper out from behind his back. "For you," he said, simply.

Five accepted it, looking it over. It was him. He was clutching the telescope, and there were a few sketchy stars in the space above him. Five opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he said, "I... Thank you, Six. It's really nice."

Six grinned, shyly, and slipped back into his room, pulling the door shut behind him. Five held the drawing up to his face again, examining it.

Sometimes, he really couldn't make sense of Six's actions.


	3. C is for Charisma

_N/A: Ugh... Sorry this is so late, guys. Writer's block. And for all that, I'm not too happy with how this came out... I strayed too far from the original prompt. Oh well. Tomorrow will be better, promise._

**C is for Charisma**

It was something about her, something intoxicating. Ever since she had rescued them that first time, saved them all from certain death (and looked great doing it, too) he had been drawn to her. It was, of course, only natural to feel gratitude towards her, as he was sure Five had. However, he _knew_ it was more than that. Much more.

Maybe it was because she was so different from all of the others. She was kind to him, yes, but she had a harsher side, too, and wasn't afraid to fight for those she cared about. There were so many different aspects to her personality, all of them so deeply intriguing. He could remember, once, asking Five about it, in one of those precious few times they had to talk and relax.

"Five, what is Seven _really_ like?" The other stitchpunk had been confused, ad Nine had continued, "I mean, when she's just being... normal. When she isn't killing beats or rescuing people or taking care of the Twins?"

Five had been slightly embarrassed, and replied, "To be honest, I'm not sure. We didn't really get all that much time alone together. Besides she always seemed to be slightly annoyed at me..." His voice trailed off. "She sure is something, though, huh?"

Nine could certainly agree to that. Seven was something wonderful, something brave, something that drew him in, fascinated him. He felt horrible for it, but despite his grief for the others, later on, a small part of him was just incredibly happy that she wasn't dead. These thoughts, however, brought more guilt and unfortunate implications than he cared for, so he generally just settled on thinking about her personality, how intriguing, how addictive it was.

She was Seven, the Warrior. To Nine, when she put on that bird-skull helmet, spear in hand, it was almost as though she herself could fly. She was like a hawk, zeroing in on prey dozens of times bigger than her. She was fearless, and flawless in her attack. ...Well, perhaps not flawless, but Nine didn't think anyone else could fail so gracefully. Or maybe that was just him. Nevertheless, watching her in battle convinced him that this was what she had been born for, to fight, to defend those she cared about. It made Nine happier than he would admit that he was, apparently, someone she cared about.

Then, she was Seven, the Mother. It was so strange, seeing her take off the helmet and envelop Three and Four in an enormous hug. It was strange, but not unpleasant. It was comforting, to see her softer side. Her hands no longer clasped her spear for dear life, they caressed the faces of the two that she had grown so close to, out in the emptiness. Nine had known little about the concept of "family" before he began reading some of the books that had belonged to the Scientist. After he grew more familiar with the idea, however, he couldn't help thinking of himself, Seven, and the Twins. It just fit so... perfectly.

He had never been sure of when he was going to get to see the illusive Seven the Companion. He had been so eager to see what she was like, talking to him, one-on-one, as an equal. As a friend. As... Well, perhaps he was being too optimistic. He had never really gotten a chance, until one slightly damp, cool, evening. Three and Four had gone off to explore, and they were left alone. Nine was sitting on what was left of a statue; it was in the shape of a snarling dragon, fallen on its side, making a lovely place to sit.

As was often the case, he was thinking about Seven. Through all that had happened, she was unquestionably the leader of their little group. Nine had no problem with that- it was easy to see why. She was strong, she was smart, she was brave, and there was something else, a spark that just seemed to cause the others to gravitate around her. Something that made Nine wonder why on Earth Five hadn't tried to know her better- he then reminded himself that he was being horribly unfair.

It was rather awkward to be interrupted from musing about Seven by Seven.

"Hey there," she said, coolly. "Nice perch."

"Huh?" he asked, turning. "Oh, yeah. Thanks."

"Mind if I join you?"

"No, not at all," he replied, swallowing nervously. He knew he was being stupid again. Seven was a friend, regardless of how she showed it. There was nothing, he supposed, that was actually wrong about his feelings for her, but if they made him act like a terrified fool...

"Nice night."

He nodded, giving her a sidelong look. While he was praying that he didn't do anything too idiotic, she was staring casually up at the sky, resting her arms on her knees. After a pause, she asked, "What is it? Is there something on my face?"

He jumped slightly, then said, "No, no, it's nothing. I was just, er, wondering."

"Wondering?" She looked amused. "Wondering about what?"

He took a deep breath, then deciding it would be worse not to, asked, "Seven, what do you act like around your friends? What are you like when you aren't saving people or being their foster mom?"

She laughed, and something inside him seemed to turn over. He instantly regretted asking.

"Hey, don't give me that face." He looked back up at her. She was grinning. "You look so sad. Don't. I wasn't meaning to sound rude, okay?"

He shook his head. "It's alright. It was a stupid question."

"Well, yeah," she admitted. He looked up at her, hurt. "It was stupid because you _know_ what I act like around my friends. It's how I act around you all the time, Nine."

"You... You really consider me a friend."

She snorted. "Of course. I don't have much to choose form, do I?" He flinched, and she placed an arm on his shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. Look, Nine..." She sighed, then looked straight at him. "If you're feeling lonely, or insecure, or whatever, just know that I value you. A lot. Yes, you can be a stupid kid at times. We all can, okay? I swear I'm your friend."

She pulled him into a hug, which he returned, slightly unable to believe his good luck. He murmured into her shoulder, "Seven... What if I wanted to be more than friends?"

She opened one eye to look at him, and replied, "Nine, you're a sweet kid, but you have no concept of subtlety. I _know_ you like me. However, I like you too, and I don't want you to lose all those cute little idiosyncrasies. So stop worrying and enjoy it."

He wasn't sure how she managed to make a love confession sound so businesslike, so like an order. That was just how Seven was, and he wouldn't have it any other way.


	4. D is for Dreamer

_A/N: Yay, no pairings this time, only our favorite nutty prophet. I really love writing 6 for some reason. I feel that I was a bit harsh on him... Poor guy. Oh well. Thanks to all who review, fave, and alert this; it's much appreciated. If you want to see a particular pairing or concept written about, tell me, and I'll move it to the top of my list. _

**D is for Dreamer**

He had always wondered, vaguely, if he was the only one of them who could dream. Actually, just whether or not his kind _slept_ was a matter of debate. They were not biological, and sleep, like eating, was completely unnecessary. At least, it should be; they had never truly figured out exactly what powered them, but whatever it was, they always felt more refreshed after they had voluntarily lost consciousness for a night.

Six had never asked if any of the others saw what he saw when they slept. At first, he didn't know anyone well enough, then he never got the right opportunity. After that, he had such trouble articulating even that which was the most important to him, so he didn't bother anymore. Sometimes, he liked the idea that only he got these odd visions. They could be very fun, at times. Sometimes, he would see the other stitchpunks. Sometimes, he _was_ one of the other stitchpunks. He liked those dreams. He may not be close to them in the waking world, but while he "slept," he felt like he knew them better than anyone else.

On the whole, these dreams were nonsensical. Upon waking up, he knew that the events were impossible. Sometimes, however, something from one of his dreams would happen in reality, and for some reason, this unsettled, even offended him. Oftentimes, while dreaming, he was perfectly aware of his surroundings. If he so wished, he could bend the world around him to his will. He liked that. He felt trapped so often while awake, so helpless. For the one place he had any kind of control over to reach out to the others was odd. He felt slightly selfish for it, but he wanted these dreams to be his, and his alone.

On a deeper level, he found it frightening. He had dreamed of Seven's departure days before it had happened, and when she and the Twins fled, he felt a mixture of guilt that he hadn't somehow prevented it, and unease that he had known it was coming. He was glad that he was the only one who dreamt in the way he did, but having it spill over to the real world felt unnatural. Wrong. He kept wanting to blame himself anytime he dreamed about something bad happening before it really did. Eventually, he began to push those dreams that felt like they might come true aside, pretending they were simply dreams, nothing more. Like the one about One and Two. They didn't get along too well, but Six convinced himself that what he had seen was never possible, that One was their leader, and would never do that. When Two went missing, he had forgotten about it completely.

As time went on, his dreams shifted. Not only did the others appear less often, but the general tone changed, too. Some his dreams before were sad, yes, and some of them dark, but they were _nothing_ compared to the later ones. These made even less sense, too. They began to lose any recognizable storyline, and become flashes of random images. Beasts, stitchpunks that he didn't recognize, flashes of green light, and strange symbols. He _hated_ these dreams, and woke up shivering and shuddering every time. By that time, he had become familiar with the sensation that a dream would become real. It was a heavy, foreboding sensation, most of the time. Now, he felt it every time he fell asleep.

It was especially unpleasant when combined with how _weird_ the dreams were. At least with the earlier dreams, when he knew something would come true, he had a pretty good idea of what would happen. Now, he only had vague snatches of ideas for the future. It was also the first time he had reoccurring dreams, too. Certain things, most notably the symbols and flashes of green, seemed to show up in every single dream. He could always hear distant screaming.

So he stopped sleeping. After all, he reasoned, they didn't _need_ sleep; it was a luxury that made life for them more pleasant, more comfortable.

If he had kept enough of his mind to feel regret, he would have regretted that decision for the rest of his life. It wreaked havoc on his mental health, for one thing. He had always been shy and quiet, but that was his nature. If he really wanted to speak with one of the others, he could. Now, he spoke so little because he _had_ to. It was almost as though his brain forgot how to speak, for the most part. He was limited to a few simple sentences, which he clung to as though his life depended on it. Maybe it did. His hands, too, became more erratic in their work. Once, he had been meticulous, careful placing his lines to create a perfect, almost lifelike image on paper. Now, he scribbled wildly, furiously, splattering his papers with splotches of stray ink.

In some ways, the deterioration of his mind was linked to the much worse, and much stranger side-effect of going without sleep.

He couldn't stop dreaming.

It was as though a film was constantly playing in the back of his mind. He was determined not to sleep, but the dreams kept on coming. Sometimes, they would overtake him, and he would pass out, only to awake later, having been subjected to more unknown horrors. He had more trouble than he ever had in communicating to the others, but for the first time, he felt a desperation to do so. A few phrases, left over from the visions, stuck fast in his head, and he repeated them to all those who would listen. They _had _to go back, back to the Source of it all. Of course, they never listened. They had stopped listening long ago.

It was for the same reason that his drawing style had changed so much. For one thing, it provided a welcome distraction from the terror that constantly threatened to overwhelm him. As long as his hands were scrabbling madly over paper, he couldn't fall asleep, no matter how tired. It was also his way to warn the others. They paid no attention to his pleading verbally, so he drew the source of his torment, over and over. Two, at least, seemed interested in it, but he missed the point of the drawings. They weren't directions, they were meant to _discourage_ inquisitive minds from getting into the danger that they were connected to. It never worked.

Yet, there were a few times when all the madness, all the delirium, simply stopped. The buzzing in Six's mind was cut off. He could finally breathe freely, without worrying that at any moment he would be seized by another vision. He wanted to relax, more than anything else. He was a dreamer, however, and only he could warn the others. It never stopped, really.


	5. E is for Escape

_A/N: Yay, no more crappy title! :D Anyways, I really, really enjoyed this chapter. I've wanted to write about 7 trying to convince 5 to run away with her, based off the whole "You've come back!"/"Looks like you finally decided to join the fight." thing. To be honest, this idea was what got me into 7/5 in the first place... Well, as usual, thanks to all who review/fave/alert, and I hope you like this chapter as much as I did._

**E is for Escape**

If there was anything that the humans had not taken from this world, it was the sunset. The sky, normally a muddle of grays and browns, was shot through with red and orange as the so often invisible sun went out in a blaze of glory. I loved to watch it, and always did my best to come up to the tower at this time of day, every day, to watch it. I leaned forwards on the railing, drumming my fingertips on the side of my telescope as I gazed at the sky, absentmindedly.

"Pretty, huh? It actually hasn't changed much since the war, believe it or not. The Twins found some old pictures of what the humans saw in one of their books."

I looked around to see Seven, bird-skull helmet pushed up, away from her face, smiling at me, spear in one hand. I grinned back at her. "Yeah, I've seen those, too. I like coming up here to see it."

She nodded, stepping forwards and setting down her spear. "It's the best vantage point for miles," she agreed. She hoisted herself up onto the railing, dropping her feet over the other side.

I gave a sharp, involuntary intake of breath."I'd really prefer it if you didn't do that," I said, nervously. "If you fall from this height, I swear that not even Two and I will be able to save you."

She laughed, rolling her eyes, and slid off, back onto the main platform. "Don't worry, you, I'm not going to fall. Stop worrying."

"I don't want you to get your spine snapped in two, that's all," I replied, reproachfully.

"Oh, not you, _too_," she sighed. "One's being a pain again. Seriously, I am getting so _sick_ of his whining."

I shrugged. "What can you do about it? Just... try not to upset him too much. You know how he gets."

She looked at me, biting her lip slightly. She turned her head back towards the sunset, and said, quietly, "To be honest, I've been thinking of getting out of here, soon." Her voice was strangely tentative, careful. She was testing me, trying to figure out how I would react.

I laughed, nervously. "You aren't serious. You'd die out there, the beast would kill you. You know that."

She didn't look at me. After an uncomfortable silence, she asked, "You really think so?"

Fear flickered somewhere inside of me. "Seven, don't... don't be so self-assured that you think you can take on the beast. Don't. There's no way that you'd survive out there on your own."

Finally, she turned her face to meet my gaze. "Actually, that's why I'm here, talking to you." Her voice was strange, determinedly calm. "I don't want to do this alone. The Twins are coming with me. I can't leave them here. And... I want you to come, too."

"_No._" My answer came out more forcefully, more sharply, than I had meant it to.

"Five-" she said, instantly, pleading, but I cut her off.

"Seven, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just _can't_." My voice was rising in pitch, and I felt suddenly panicky. I should have seen this coming, I had, at least, suspected that she wasn't going to hang around forever, but I couldn't do this not now, I wasn't ready, I wasn't ready...

"Five, why not?" Her voice sounded almost pleading, something that I had thought she was incapable of. "If there's anyone else you don't want to leave behind, I can take them, really it won't be too much work, I swear!"

"It's not that, it's nothing like that." I took a deep breath. "Seven, I'm not brave you. I can't fight. If I go out there, I'll get attacked, and I'll _die_. I don't want to go on _adventures_ out in the emptiness. I don't feel _trapped_ here the way you do."

Her gaze hardened. "So you'd rather stay here, cowering under One, for your entire life?"

"At least it's safe here."

Something about that comment seemed to affect her more deeply than anything that had been said so far. She made a motion towards me, as if she wanted to grasp my arm, then stopped herself. "Five," she said, softly, "I promise that as long as you're with me, I won't let _anything_ happen to you. You won't even have to fight- you can be our medic. If you get in trouble, I'll bail you out." She had had her head turned to the floor beneath us, but her eyes darted up to meet my own as she asked, "Isn't that how it's always been?"

"Seven, please, _please_, don't make this harder for me than it is." Every word was painful, but my mind was made up.

"You don't want to go." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. I had a feeling she'd known this even before she asked me.

I reached out, placing a hand on her own. She stiffened, then relaxed, turning her face back up. "No, I don't," I said. "But Seven, I don't want to have to say goodbye to you, either." I tightened my grip. "Seven, don't go. It'll be okay here. You can't it here that much, right? Why not stay here, with me, and Two, and Six, and the Twins?"

She shook her head, sadly. "I made my mind up a long time ago. So did Three and Four. We're leaving." She shook her hand free of mine. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to join us." Her voice was subdued, so unlike her.

"I'm so sorry..." I whispered.

"Five," she said, pulling her helmet back over her head, obscuring her face, "if you ever change your mind, we'll be waiting. _I'll_ be waiting."

I nodded silently, and she picked up her spear, preparing to leave. "I'll always wait for you to come."

"I'll always wait for you to come back."

She shook her head slightly, then turned, and boarded the makeshift elevator. I wanted to run over to her, to tell her that _of course_ I would come, that I never wanted to leave her. I couldn't. I watched her until she was out of sight, white cloth and bone turned red by the setting sun.


	6. F is for Fratricide

_A/N: Fweeheehee. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter- and I'm a 2 fan. What exactly does this say about me? To everyone who posted requests, I appreciate them. I'm getting them all planned out, so hold tight. I think the next chapter is going to be less depressing, probably some cavity-inducing fluff. These past few are too sad for me. XD  
_

**F is for Fratricide**

"I've got a mission for you." His voice echos throughout the cavernous room, empty except for the two of them. The guard is gone, off on his own again, though the stitchpunk who has just spoken has a pretty good idea of where to. He is slightly relieved at this, though he tells himself that he wouldn't understand what was going on, anyway. Subtlety was not the guard's strong point. The stitchpunk wonders if he would even care, if he did know.

The other stichpunk has been making his way across the floor, as slow as always, clutching his cane, head bowing slightly from the weight of that ridiculous hat. He looks up at the sound of the first's voice, straightening. "Hmm? A mission?" He looks slightly uncertain, and if the other didn't know him better, he would say his expression is suspicious. It isn't, of course, and the first doubts that the second even _can_ be suspicious. For all his experience, he is so very naive, so trusting. It's so easy that the stitchpunk in the chair feels a little uncomfortable, wondering if this really is the only way. His right hand tightens on the arm of his makeshift throne, and he tells himself that yes, this _is_ the only way.

He responds, "Yes, you heard me, a scouting mission. Eight and I have been hearing strange noises in the distance these past few nights. I fear the worst. We need someone to go and check. If it really is the beast, and it's coming our way, we'll need forewarning. Time to build up our defences, prepare for battle, even to evacuate, if necessary."

"Huh. Really," he says, leaning on his cane, smirking slightly. "I thought you were all about us staying inside and keeping hidden, One. This is all so very unlike you. Well, not the worrying late at night about strange noises, that's exactly like you, but you know what I mean."

One scowls at him. "You can gloat later, Two." There won't _be_ a later, but no need to tell Two that. "Sometimes, personal opinion must be set aside. I ask you this favor only. It would be _kind_ of you to grant me it."

Two grins. "Alright, One. I _know_ how much it _kills_ you go against what you've been telling me all along, so 'll do this for you. Just let me go and get Five."

He begins to walk towards the door leading out of the chamber again, but One calls out, "No. I want you to do this alone."

Two looks around, frowning. "Why not? He can help me bring back some supplies. We haven't been out collecting in, ah, forever." It's so stupid of them to honestly believe that One doesn't know what they been doing; it's not as if the materials for their more recent projects have just sprung out of thin air. This reminder of Two's frequent disobedience, of why the group, as a whole, would do much better without him, gives him the confidence to say the next few words.

"I would prefer it if you didn't do any collecting this time, Two. I don't want you to attract trouble. A group larger than one would raw the beast, I am sure. Besides, he's not really the best scout. You know how skittish he is, how easily he panics. We need someone quieter and calmer."

"Fine, fine," says Two, rolling his eyes. "No Five, no supply gathering. I get it. And when exactly do you want me to be back, Your Majesty?"

One pauses. Two isn't going to come back at all, not if everything goes according to plan, though he isn't going to tell him that. He has to be careful, though, because he isn't sure how many times he can give this order before Two begins to suspect something. He wants this first trip to be the last. Finally, he answers, "Come back when you know for sure that my fears are unfounded. I want you to scout out the whole area around here."

Two nods, and says, "Right. I'll go get ready straight away." He continues to walk, but again, One stops him.

"No."

"What is it?" Two asks, looking a little exasperated.

"I'd really like for this to be done as quickly as possible. Give me peace of mind. I highly doubt there's anything you need to prepare for. It would be best for you to go now." One would _never_ think of himself as being paranoid, but he doesn't want Two to go and tell Five about the "mission." Two is optimistic, idealistic, unlikely to suspect One's actual motives; Five is not. He may be a complete and utter coward, but he isn't stupid. He picks up on things easily, and would be less likely to accept One's request without question. One can tell that Five has never really trusted him, anyways. No, he doesn't want Two telling Five what is going on.

"Alright, I'll go." Two looks slightly annoyed now, but nevertheless turns around at One's orders, walking in the opposite direction. He puts a hand up to swing the piece of glass attached to his "hat" forward over his eyes. One never stops watching him.

As soon as Two is out of sight, One breathes out, slowly, as if releasing something inside of him. The job is done, and however important One thinks it is, he is glad that it's over. He has to convince himself, again, that this was truly necessary, truly right. Yes, Two has been a valuable member of the group. When it comes down to it, though, thinks One, the costs outweigh the benefits. He has a brilliant mind, but his effects on the others make One uneasy. He's too rebellious, maybe not in the way that Seven is, but One can feel that he agitates them, makes them want to endanger themselves. Without him, One is sure, things will go much more smoothly. Five will be quieter, less inquisitive. Good. He is intelligent and hardworking, and One will be glad when he can see sense rather than the hopeful, silly nonsense that Two spews. One wonders if he ever truly believed it anyway; it seems unlikely.

Without Two, One thinks, everything won't go back to "normal," it will be _right_. There have been losses, yes, Seven, the Twins, and now Two, but the remainder will be safe. Something that they had never truly been before.

Yes, One decides, this is best. He does his best to put the matter out of his mind, to forget about the stitchpunk he has known for the longest, bringing himself closer to his own death with each step. It has to be for the best.


	7. G is for Gravity

_A/N: I am so, _so _sorry about how much I've let this lag. Well, on the plus side, I'm here with my longest chapter yet, though I fear it's gone the same way as Charisma. However, I loved getting to write some 2/5, since it was requested, it's my OTP, too, and it needs more fanfic. I'm a little nervous about the writing here, though, so even though reviews in general make me happy, I'd love some honest constructive criticism. Well, at least it's cute and fluffy, and I get to let my inner fangirl out. _

**G is for Gravity**

It was really, really enjoyable to watch Two's hands move as he worked. They were so different from Five's own, and Two often voiced his envy, saying that since he had been created earlier, before their maker had gotten better at crafting them, Five's were much more well-made. Five, personally, didn't believe that. He always told him that even if Two's hands weren't built as well, Two was much better at _using _them than Five. They were oddly graceful, pointing out passages in a book, tracing the outline of a design, or tightening the screws on their latest project. It seemed as though lately, no matter what Five did, his hands always felt awkward and clumsy, _especially_ when working around Two. He was constantly dropping things, fumbling with knots, and twitching nervously. He was just incredibly grateful that Two was endlessly forgiving of his apprentice, unlike Seven, who would have lost patience with him long ago.

It was for this reason that Five was the one watching as Two made the final batch of stitches to a sort of shoulder pack they had been working on. Five had, at any rate, made the plans for it, with encouragement. Two pulled the needle through for the final time, snapping the thread.

"There," he said, holding it up so that Five could see. "Finished. Here you go." He handed it to Five, who immediately handed it back to him.

"I didn't _do_ anything. You should have it."

"You designed it, didn't you?" Two asked.

"You helped me," Five protested, "and you did most of the manual work. It should be yours."

"Fine," said Two, smiling. "If it's mine, then it's mine to give away. Take it." Again, he pressed it on Five. When he opened his mouth to refuse, Two said, "It's a _gift_."

Five accepted it, saying, "Thanks..."

Two beamed. "Good." His face changed, and he leaned in. "Five? Are you alright? You've been acting so odd lately."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I replied. It wasn't completely true; I _had_ been acting and feeling strange lately, but I had no clue why, and I figured it would pass soon enough. "So, what do you want to work on next?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. There's nothing really that we _need_ at this point... All I can think of is self-modification, and I know how you don't want to do that." Five nodded. Two had remarked a few times about how bad his eyesight was getting, and wondered if there was anything they could do about it. Five, of course, was extremely averse to the idea. He had already lost one eye, and he didn't want his friend to lose both because of some stupid wiring mistake. "We can just take a break at this point, I suppose," Two continued, snapping Five out of his chain of thoughts.

He nodded, then said, "I'm going to go up to the watchtower a bit, if that's alright."

"Of course, of course," replied Two, absently.

He gave a little wave as Five stepped out of their room and to the elevator.

* * *

It was something that he sometimes thought only he liked. Simply having time to sit and think. He could just let his mind wander, as he stood on the watchtower. As it happened, his mind began to drift back to working with Two.

He tried again to figure out what had been happening to him lately. It was so _frustrating_. He knew that it hadn't always been happening, and it felt lately as though the more he learned the more useless he became. He gave his fingers an experimental flex, and when that went without incident, began fiddling with the telescope. He was fine.

Five sighed, putting it back down. So, apparently, he was normal when he wasn't trying to work on anything. Thinking back on it, it wasn't just the hands- there was a certain odd, tight feeling within him. He almost considered trying to avoid Two for a while, see if it went away, but he knew that doing that without even explaining anything to his friend would be cruel. Besides, he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do that even if he did explain the situation. It was like gravity; they seemed to be drawn to each other.

Five began to pace around the platform, thinking. He wanted to talk to someone about it- but Seven was awful with this type of thing, Six was the absolute _worst _person to go to for answers, the Twins could only repeat what they had recorded, and disliked requests as vague as clumsy hands and a sort of constricted feeling in my circuits." This was exactly the type of thing that Five would have normally discussed with Two, but doing so in this case would feel strangely awkward. After struggling over the issue for a little longer, Five resolved that he would wait. If he continued, he'd bring it up. If it went away, everything would be fine and he wouldn't look like an idiot. Again.

* * *

Night had fallen, and Five had spent the rest of his evening in the Twins' room, reading. It was obvious to anyone who spent even a small amount of time with them why they loved their books so much- the volumes were large and heavy for the stitchpunks, but they were so _fascinating_. Every time Five began reading, he felt as though he would be unable to leave for hours. He hated how long it took to finish a single one, though- in all the time he spent there, he didn't finish one.

Five blinked as he slowly made his way towards his room. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light, and he stumbled over the loose nail that he should really be used to stepping over by now. By the time he was in, his vision had returned to normal. He walked over to his skate-bed, and picked up the shoulder pack lying on top of it. He was just about to hang it up on the hook above his bed when he heard footsteps. Looking up, he saw Two. Instantly, the strange, fluttery tightness returned, and he dropped the pack back on the bed.

"Hey, Five," he said, cheerfully.

"Hi," Five replied, smiling weakly.

"Have you been upstairs all this time?"

"Oh, no, I've been with Three and Four. Reading."

"Ah, yes," Two murmured.

Five sat down on the bed, pushing the pack to the side. _Wait,_ he told himself. Wait until the morning. Then, he would ask about it. No sooner than that.

He looked up to a flare of light and the sound of a match being struck. Two was lighting one of the many candles that were scattered around the room. They not to use them too much, as they weren't sure when they were going to find any more, but Two had been needing them more often recently, because of his eyes.

"What is it?" Five asked.

"Oh, nothing, it's nothing," he replied. "I just wanted to check something." He was riffling through the papers littering the desk, but straightened up to look at Five. "Are you sure you're okay? You've been acting so odd lately."

"I..." Five paused. Finally, he decided that he didn't _care_ about some stupid self-promise, he wanted this sorted out now. "First, I just want to apologize... I know that I haven't been any help at all, and I don't want you to think I'm stupid for it." The words came out in a rush.

"I don't think you're stupid," said Two, quietly, and he walked over to where Five was sitting. "And you don't need to apologize, I don't mind. You haven't been useless. Look, what's wrong?"

"I don't know... I can't remember when it began... My hands have just been so stiff and shaky lately."

Two grabbed one of Five's hands- he felt something in his gears flip over- and began examining it. "Do you think it's an internal problem? Does it happen all the time?"

Five politely dislodged his hand from Two's, giving a small, nervous laugh. "Well, the thing is... It actually only seems to happen... Around you."

Two cocked his head slightly to one side. "Around me?"

Five nodded, tugging at one of his fingers. A nervous habit.

"Five," Two said, sitting down next to him, "do you remember that book... The one about the human woman? The one about love?"

Five whipped his head up. "You think- you think that's what this is?" He stared at the other, who was biting his lip slightly.

Love was something that he had read about before. It was, as far as he could tell, something that drew two people together- sort of like gravity. Reviewing everything he'd learned about it- which wasn't much- he tried to parallel it to himself and Two. They were always together, yes, and despite everything that had happened lately, Five knew that life without him wouldn't just be unbearable, it was unimaginable. He knew that it went beyond that, though- something deeper, much deeper. Even deeper than the bond between Three and Four, something with a new, unknown element. Something much more alien to the stitchpunks. Something that started like this.

"You tell me."

Five hesitated gazing at Two's hands. His own were still trembling slightly. Finally, summoning up every dormant shred of courage in him, he grabbed the other's, and whispered, "Yes."

* * *

They didn't discuss it too much after that. It felt much more natural to simply do, or more accurately, _be._ There was at least once, though, when Two, arms tightly entwined in Five's, said that being together sometimes felt like flying.

Five, whose hands had stopped shaking long ago, had replied, "No, love is a kind of gravity. It pulls me to you."

Two could only chuckle, pulling Five closer.


	8. H is for Heavenly

_A/N: Yes, I still like to think that Five/Two is canon. :D Maybe that's why I always feel like I'm making my fanfiction lean towards it, when I'm trying to stick to the movie's canon. Oh well. Anyway, here's Eight and his "special friend." This turned out more sad than I'd expected... It was meant to be a comedy. Again, oh well._

**H is for Heavenly**

It wasn't as though they didn't have emotions. It was simply that, living in a post-apocalyptic world where a beast could come and kill you at any moment placed some restrictions on the most common ones.

The one that they all knew far too well was fear. Six seemed to cycle between this and a strange, almost eerie contentment. Five had been in a constant state of paranoia and worry ever since he had gotten caught in the explosion and lost his eye. One tended to channel his own concerns into anger at the others, but it was no secret that he was just as terrified as Five and Six were, and just as bad at handling it. Seven was good at converting whatever she felt into energy, and Two tended to be serenely unconcerned about the possibility of immanent death. As for the Twins, it was difficult to say how they felt.

Like them, Eight kept his emotions to himself. He wasn't what you would call close to any of the others- Three and Four had each other, and Seven was a bit of a mother figure to them, in addition to hanging out with Two and Five, who spent most of their time together. Six spent a lot of time alone, but was always happy to be around the Twins or Five. The only people Eight and One had were each other, and they weren't exactly friends.

Perhaps, once, Eight would have resented the unfeeling neglect, and, at times, outright abuse from his leader, but he had long since given up the notion that One was someone he could respect any true affection from. Their relationship was that of master and guard, and Eight preferred it that way. He had never been good at connecting with others, anyway- though it wasn't as though he'd ever made any real effort to.

Unlike fear, bliss was an emotion that the stitchpunks didn't have much experience with. Life had it's small joys, yes- One liked the thrill of power when controlling the others, Two thrived on creating, Three and Four got excited when finding out new, useful pieces of information, Five enjoyed helping out his friends, Six loved the feeling of completion upon finishing a drawing, and Seven lived for the rare moments of breathtaking exhilaration, fighting for her life, but disobeying One gave a similar effect.

At first, Eight had gotten his kicks they same way that One had. There was such a sense of satisfaction in kicking around the little people, as he liked to put it. He saw no real need for guilt- they didn't like him, and he didn't like them. It was a way to win favor with One, which was better than the rest of them could say. Eight may have had little genuine liking for him- he was too cold and too cruel- but despite the stitchpunk's strength, he needed a leader. The idea of having to take care of himself, with no one to follow, terrified him. He had the muscle, but not the brain, and he knew it all too well.

There had come a time when Eight got sick of the entire thing, though. The others obviously hated him for his devotion to One, his bullying of them. He had no desire for companionship, not really, but there were times when he got lonely. One's insults, however common, were still unpleasant, and a reminder of why he could never be the one there for Eight. He secretly envied the others, no matter how much he disliked them. They were so different, from nervous Five to aggressive Seven, and yet they seemed to have banded together, all relying on each other. They were alone at times, of course, but it was by their choice. Eight knew _why_ they didn't extend that friendship to him, but the way Six shrank away from him, how even gentle Two distrusted him, made him almost regret his treatment of the in the past, and join their ranks.

Almost.

He doubted that they would ever accept him. He had done too much against them. At any rate, sneaking into Five and Two's lab once, when they weren't around, had shown him something better than friendship. Much better. It actually made him see _why_ they were so interested in exploring those ruins. He figured that they couldn't miss the object too much, and besides, would never suspect him of having enough of an interest in their artifacts to steal one, so he took it.

This was how Eight came to think that he was the only one of them that could truly say he knew the meaning of bliss. This went _way_ beyond the feeling of blunt satisfaction from abusing the others. This was something that, no matter how tough a day had been, he could come back to. It took him somewhere else, somewhere that he could forget about the fear and the danger, the utter lack of respect he got, and the envy of the others.

A part of him knew that he was forgetting more than that. It was dulling his senses, scrambling his mind. Even in his state of rapture, he was dimly aware that this was wreaking havoc on his brain. That part of his mind, along with many others, began to fade away. He had a vague feeling that One knew what was happening, or at least had an idea. He became less responsive, more forgetful, and even less communicative. He wasn't sure _why_ it happened, but he could tell it was all because of his little discovery. A side effect to the wonderful sensation. He didn't really care. It was, as far as he was concerned, too good to give up. Besides, what exactly did he have to lose? The others, One included, had thought of him as a stupid great oaf long before he'd begun to use it. He doubted that they'd even notice if he began acting even less intelligent than normal. Even if they could, they probably wouldn't care. This fact didn't bother Eight, though. He had his magnet, and even if it slowed him down a bit, began to break down his senses, who could ask for anything more?


	9. I is for Incendiary

_A/N: Well, as you can see, this is definitely no longer a day-to-day thing. I'll still do my best to update it on a regular basis, and I won't let this slip to less than a chapter a week. At first I wasn't sure what to do with this chapter, because everything I could think of was either more depressing stuff or 2-centric, and I feel like he gets enough attention from me as it is. This actually turned out to be one of my favorite chapters, though- it's more humorous than the others, and since I cheated you guys out of a comedy last chapter, have some pyro!5 to make it all better._

**I is for Incendiary**

Five was not, never had been, and never would be the bravest of their little group. If there was anything that he wished he could change about himself, forever, and would do so without hesitation, it was his courage. Or, rather, lack thereof. Two and Seven told him that it was perfectly okay, and that he had had a worse time than most of them. He supposed that this made sense; his memories from before he lost his eye were certainly less fearful than his memories now, and apparently, humans who went through traumatic events were often haunted by the aftereffects for years, even the rest of their lives. It was conceivable that something similar had happened to him.

That didn't change the fact that he was the one who, whenever the beast got dangerously close, or the frequent arguments between Seven and One reached explosive levels, or even when the _wind_ outside got too harsh, huddled in a corner with Six. The feeling of humiliation got even worse around Seven. Listening to her enthusiastic gushings about adventures in the emptiness, both those she'd experienced and those that she wanted to, and the knowledge that he would _never_ feel the same way, was almost unbearable. It took persuasion on Two's part just to get him outside to collect new materials, and he couldn't imagine going outside on his own.

There was, however, one thing. Something that Seven was strangely nervous about, one instance in which it was _him_ who was being the "brave" one, and he relished it. It had happened on one of the first "scouting" missions he'd gone on, just shortly after he'd lost his eye. _That _had taken some real coaxing, as he was so skittish. It had rained the day they had come to the cathedral, and it was really very lucky that he'd made his discovery at all. They had been searching through an abandoned house, one that was still in relatively good condition. They had not yet come across the beast, and One was more relaxed about allowing them outside. That was why their group had been so big: him and Two, of course, as well as Seven, the Twins, and Six. Granted, Six lost interest in everything else the moment that he found his first ink pot, but it had been nice to have the company.

Five had been alone in a room, still unused to his new lack of depth perception. He had literally tripped over it- a cardboard box, jutting out of a heap of papers and other debris. The hollow rattling that came from within drew his interest, and after catching and steadying himself, he turned around to investigate it. The interior of it slid easily out, greeting him with the sight of a pile of wooden sticks, about as long as his arm. Each had a curious tip, red, slightly sparkly, made of different material than the rest of it. He touched them, experimentally, running a finger down it.

"Hey, guys," he called, voice wavering slightly. "I- I found something! Come quick!"

The others weren't far, and soon Seven came dashing in, a rather affronted looking Six in tow, still clutching a piece of ink-stained paper. Two was in next, held back by his limp, and then Three and Four followed.

"What is it?" Seven asked immediately. Five suddenly felt rather embarrassed; they all seemed to think he'd gotten into some kind of crisis.

"Er, well, it's nothing _bad_, but I found these and didn't know what they were... I thought you guys should have a look." He indicated the box.

Two bent over it, picking up one of the sticks, and examined it with interest. He shrugged, passing it to Seven. She turned it over in her hands, but her face showed no sign of recognition. She offered it to Six, who had sat down on the floor and was now forlornly scratching at his paper, looking extremely disappointed when his fingers made no new marks. Sighing, she said, "I'll go and get his ink," and hadn't the object to Three before turning and walking to the other room.

The Twins had a much more promising reaction. Three held it up to his face, optics flashing brightly, before passing it to Four. They made no sound, of course, but there was a definite air of excitement about them. After inspecting it, Four put it down and began to converse rapidly with Three in their strange language of clicks and blinks. After consulting with each other, they turned to the others, gesturing excitedly. Three ran over to the box, crouched down by the side, and mimed what looked like striking the object against it. Four handed it to Five, who in turn gave it to Three. Three, however, pressed it back on the other stitchpunk, then moved aside and waved Five forwards.

Throughout all this, Two watched them with interest, and even Six had looked up from the hole that he had accidentally torn in his paper, curious. Five stepped forwards, accepting the stick from Three, and prepared to copy the other's actions. He stopped, however, upon seeing the Twins shrink back, going so far as to hide behind a cracked bowl. "What's wrong, guys?" he asked, cautiously. Four motioned for him to strike it, and Five looked over at Two.

"I say go for it," he said. "The Twins seem to know what it does. If it was that bad, I don't think they'd want to do it. Still, you should be a bit careful." Six nodded in agreement, and Five smiled slightly, before turning and copying what Three had done.

"_Whoa!_" Seven, who had almost dropped Six's ink bottle in surprise, had just voiced all their feelings. Five let out a little yelp, Six made a dash to join the Twins behind the bowl, and Two quickly moved backwards. The tip of the object had flared up, bright yellow flame dancing in the air. Three and Four applauded.

"Let me see that," said Two, fascinated. Five handed it over, staring at it in awe. "This'll be _very_ useful. Fire, whenever we need it! Just think about it. Seven you want it?" Seven, who had given Six his ink pot, got an odd expression on her face and hurriedly shook her head.

"No, no, it's fine, keep it."

Two handed it back to Five, saying, "I should go and see if I can find any more of these. This is a fantastic discovery, Five!" He maneuvered around the box, and began rummaging through the piles of discarded objects. Five continued to gaze at the flame in his hand, entranced, until he realized that it had slowly crept downwards, almost licking his hand. He let out a little cry, dropping it, and stamping it out. four giggled slightly, but he didn't really mind. It was strange to him, to be confronted with something that he _knew_ had the potential to hurt him, and _not_ feel afraid. It was new, refreshing. He grinned, and, feeling suddenly bold, picked up another, lighting it in the same manner.

"Careful!" It was Two, who had looked up at the sound. "Don't use too many until we have a clear idea of our inventory," he said.

"Yeah, okay, I won't light anymore," Five replied, not looking at him. This time, he let it burn down until it reached his fingers, then blew it out. He smiled again, then looked over at Seven. She looked, for the first time, distinctly uncomfortable. She gave a small cough.

"It's nice, Five," she said, not meeting his eye. Five grinned.

"Yes, isn't it?"


	10. J is for Journey

_A/N: Well, I've got an actual excuse this time for the wait: I've been out of state for the past few days, with family. Yay, Twins-centric. I tried to avoid assigning them genders for the most part, and finally settled on referring them as "its," because I see them as being genderless in the film._

**J is for Journey**

Three and Four loved their books, it was true. They could spend days locked in their room, poring over one, recording every piece of information in their minds, every page. However, there came times in between when they found nothing more fascinating than the odd social dynamics of the group to which they belonged.

It was an interesting situation, to be sure. The Twins did not like One, no more than any of the others, with the possible exception of Eight. He was almost their exact opposite, afraid of the world they lived in, afraid of the world they had left behind, and certain that knowledge of the past was just as dangerous as it itself had been. Three and Four thought that this was the stupidest thing ever; knowledge of a dangerous thing could act as a security measure against it happening again, anyone could see that. They had their suspicions that One could, but like the humans before him, preferred to push aside the obvious to cling to his personal beliefs. Either way, the Twins had as little respect for him as Seven, though they didn't show it.

No, none of them truly felt that one was the leader he should be. He certainly had never _led_ them anywhere. Nevertheless, with the exception of Seven's small spats with him and Two's occasional scoldings, none of them challenged his authority. He controlled them, with varying degrees of success, and none of them liked it, but still no one left.

Four pointed out that there was no real reason for them to. One was unpleasant, true, sometimes even outright abusive, but he had still done his best to look out for them. He might be a fool, but they had still come to no harm under his leadership. Some of the papers they had found around the city on their few excursions, or been given by Two, Five, or Seven, spoke of a human only ever identified as "The Chancellor." From what they had read, he had been the leader of the humans here, and though they weren't completely sure of it yet, they had a strong theory that it was him who had started the war. Four argued that though One had the potential to be dangerous, he had not yet let them into harm, as this Chancellor obviously had with his own people. So they stayed.

For months, the Twins were happy with this thought. Their lives were pretty good, considering that they had lived through the end of Humanity. They had protection, books to read, and friendly company in the forms of Two, Five, Six, and Seven. For all the strangeness of their little group in the cathedral, it was home, and it was family. The Twins were happy to leave it like that.

Or so it went for a while. It all changed, however, one gray morning, not long after a rainfall. There had been yet another mini-confrontation between One and Seven. This happened fairly often and was nothing new, but this particular one had gotten rather nasty, so everyone was still slightly subdued. At times like this, Three and Four simply holed up inside their room, with each other for company and their books for entertainment. They had planned to do this now, until the emotions of those around them had a chance to cool off, and were just settling down when Three went to grab their current read and made a terrible discovery.

Their books were missing.

They had recently been keeping them wedged behind a shelf, because they had gotten in trouble with One not too long ago for reading about humans, and about the war. Three had gone to the spot where they were hidden to retrieve the one the had just been about halfway through, and discovered the entire area bare, without a single trace of either books or culprit. They still had a pretty good idea of who had done it, and _weren't_ happy. It had been published right before the start of the war, and had been all about the Chancellor, urging the public not to trust him. Trying to instigate rebellion, from the looks of it. They had been thrilled to find a book that had surely been banned by the humans before them- Five had said that he found it hidden under a loose floorboard in what was left of a house. Knowledge was a wonderful thing, but forbidden knowledge was even more irresistible.

Feeling uncharacteristically vindictive, the Twins had decided that if their reading material was gone, they had no choice but to perform a little experiment of their own. So far, no one had left, because though One was unpleasant, the assumed that the outside was worse. Until now.

They had decided to wait until night fell, mainly just to give themselves time to change their minds. Three wanted to leave from the moment the theft had been discovered, while Four was more reluctant. They would surely be pronounced dead when they went missing, and it wouldn't be fair to Seven and Six and Two and Five. They cared about them, and it would be a sure blow to their morale if Three and Four "died." Three, on the other hand, countered that the others would have faith in them, believe that they _hadn't _died. One would probably try to use them as some kind of warning to the others, but Three was sure that they would be the opposite: an inspiration, and _incitement_ even, for the others to follow them. Just like their book. Four finally gave in, not bringing up the fact that their book had been hidden and the author probably killed for their efforts.

So that night, they left. They knew that the low light wouldn't make their escape easier, but it somehow felt more more fun. It was almost like a game. They crept out of their room, tip-toed down the stone corridors, and slipped into one of the secret passages that Five had once shown them. The light from the moon that had poured in from an open window vanished suddenly once in the tunnel, so Four's eyes flickered on as a makeshift lantern, and Three gave the other a grateful pat for going along with the plan.

The end came abruptly: one moment they were stepping on dusty stone, the only light a pale, slightly greenish one emanating from Four's eyes, and the next the moon shone down brightly on them as they squeezed through a crack in the stone, and fell onto soft, slightly damp ground.

They had not been outside in a while, and Four's eyes immediately turned off as they gazed up at the sky. Three turned to look at its twin, and then gave a silent laugh, before dancing away. Beginning to laugh as well, Four chased after it, forgetting its worries. They ran together, under the night sky, until Three slipped on the wet ground and fell flat on its face, and Four grabbed it and picked it up, dusting it off.

_Where shall we go? _Four's eyes asked, the laughter fading, as Three straightened up. Three shrugged and looked around, before noticing a large, gray shape, far away, but still closer than the city of spires which not even Seven would go near.

_Let's go there_, Three replied, and for the first time, it was slightly uncertain. It stepped forwards, grabbing the other's arm, and leading it forwards, towards the building.

Four took a last glance at what they were leaving behind. Three tugged on its arm, urging it to follow.

_Are you really sure about this? We could still go back,_ Four pointed out, not moving.

Three hesitated. Four could sense its fear, definitely present, but overpowered by excitement. _It doesn't matter. We're free now. We'll find somewhere nice, with as many books as we could read in a lifetime. This is our chance to be free! To find the truth, _it replied, gripping Four's shoulder with its free hand. _This is it. _

Four stared back at its sibling, biting its lip slightly. Then, it brightened. _How far away do you think it is?_

Three, grinning at the question, began walking forwards again. _I'm not sure. It's going to be quite a journey, huh? I think we can make it before dawn if we walk fast, though. Let's try to get there without stopping. Are you going to be okay?_

_Yeah, I think so, _Four replied, and despite its worries, the other's enthusiasm was infectious. It smiled, and as they walked, the moonlight seemed to wash away the memories of their life before. It didn't matter. This was their life now.

The sky looked down at them as they walked, the night silent except for their footsteps, and occasionally lit by the flashing light of their eyes.


End file.
